


Whipped Cream

by relenafanel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shop, M/M, Snark, They meet over whipped cream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 02:06:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relenafanel/pseuds/relenafanel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles met his soulmate while MMRPGing at the local coffee shop.  It wasn’t AvengeAnnie303, like Stiles had previously thought (and then did some digging, paid actual attention to what AvengeAnnie303 was saying, and guessed AvengeAnnie303 was actually AvengeMANnie303 and the 303 stood for his age).  Neither was it the cute hipster barista who sneered at Stiles’s taste in non-hipster whole cream and the fact he didn’t really care if his coffee was free range or organic or Arabica or whatever coffee so long as it had caffeine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whipped Cream

**Author's Note:**

> To apologize for not updating [Sleep]Walking this week.

 

Stiles met his soulmate while MMRPGing at the local coffee shop.  It wasn’t AvengeAnnie303, like Stiles had previously thought (and then did some digging, paid actual attention to what AvengeAnnie303 was saying, and guessed AvengeAnnie303 was actually AvengeMANnie303 and the 303 stood for his age).  Neither was it the cute hipster barista who sneered at Stiles’s taste in non-hipster whole cream and the fact he didn’t really care if his coffee was free range or organic or Arabica or whatever coffee so long as it had caffeine. 

In fact, he was pretty sure the barista would refuse to serve him the next time he wandered in because his father had downgraded the internet connection, not understanding Stiles’s need for Age of Conan not to freeze during a barbarian raid, and Stiles didn’t have anywhere else to go.  The barista did not care what level mage Stiles was, the barista only cared about freeing the chickens or whatever the cool new thing to free was for hipster vegan baristas who wore hemp and had unkept dreds. 

Stiles: Can I get a Venti Mint Dolce Creme Frappuccino?  With chocolate shavings and extra whipped cream?

Barista: *stuff about all the toxins and hormones and gross stuff in milk with allusions to the cow’s udder being the same as the human liver for filtering and how it was wrong to demand milk from cows anyway and **_free the cows_** *

Stiles: Uh, yeah, I just wanted something to wash down this beef jerky because it’s kind of dry.

Truthfully Stiles didn’t even have beef jerky with him.  Stiles wasn’t all that fond of beef jerky, though it did occasionally help him keep his mouth occupied so he didn’t blurt out completely stupid stuff to everyone in a 30 foot radius to him.  Beef jerky was kind of his bro that way, but his bro-the-jerky (not to be confused with not-a-bro-jerky Jackson) was not with him today, he just didn’t appreciate lectures when he was trying to spend his money on ridiculously overpriced coffee, and it was probably better than his first response, which was “Shut up and take my money, you work at Starbucks.”

And his dad told him he needed to work on his brain-to-mouth filter.  Stiles’s brain-to-mouth filter worked overtime, thank you very much dad.  Stiles’s brain-to-mouth filter was awesome and super successful and could probably be CEO of the next Facebook if it didn’t have to deal with Stiles’s brain.

Stiles’s brain sometimes? What even?

For instance, Stiles wasn’t exactly sure where his brain was when 6 feet of Grande, dark roast and handsome walked across his line of sight, and the barista responded to his order in a waspish tone “we’re out of whipped cream” while shooting  Stiles a meaningful look of accusatory loathing, and Stiles responded completely guilelessly: “He can have some of mine.  Cream that is. But he might have to take it from me.”

Grande looked equally as hateful as Barista.  They could be siblings, in expression alone, but only expression because Grande had all kinds of sultry sex appeal and Barista was the kind of cute that only happened when you squinted and tried to ignore her truly unfortunate facial piercings.

Let it be said that Stiles had nothing against facial piercings as a rule, just the unfortunate ones that looked like they were done at home with a paperclip and a pair of pliers. 

Then Stiles realized the subtext of offering some strange guy his cream, blushed, casually brought his coffee up to his mouth and did his nonchalant slink of shame-I-did-nothing back to his seat.

 

 

Grande was standing over his table, watching as Stiles battled an Orc with a two handed edged sword.  He waited until Stiles was done with frenzy attack, which was nice of him, before leaning in to breathe on the back of Stiles’s neck. 

‘WHUUUUaaat?’ Stiles mouthed to himself, and then he realized Grande wasn’t deliberately breathing on his neck.  Grande was leaning over the back of Stiles’s chair so he could reach the coffee mug at Stiles’s side.  The coffee mug with his precious, _earned_ whipped cream topping, because Grande didn’t have to put up with hipster barista’s lecture on Mad Cow Dick-ese.

Though if he really thought about it, Grande did have to put up with hipster barista _and_ Stiles’s inappropriate foray into innuendo and he didn’t even get whipped cream out of it, so maybe Grande got the bum deal.

That did not mean Grande had any right to steal Stiles’s whipped cream. That was bad behaviour.  Like, lock him up and never let him eat anything but bread and water bad behaviour.

There was a special level of Hell for that behaviour.  Uncalled for.

Other than the fact Stiles may have invited that kind of behaviour.

Honestly, Stiles would rather Grande took his whipped cream the old fashioned way and actually milked it out of him, because taking it right off his Venti Mint Dolce Creme Frappuccino was unacceptable.

“Dude, unacceptable!” Stiles gaped up at Grande, up and up and up because Grande was tall and from this angle he was all stubble and cheekbones and a v-neck that led down to really grotesquely hot chest hair. 

Grotesquely hot.  As in Stiles might throw up in shock if he actually had to look at Grande shirtless, because oh wow, even that peek of triangle was too much.

Only, he couldn’t really appreciate Grande’s overwhelmingness when the man was removing his fingers from Stiles’s drink and flicking the whipped cream on the top of his own cup.

Was this even legal? Stiles wondered, staring at the crook of Grande’s fingers as they hovered over his mug, coated in the cream, cream that had been beaten until it emerged whipped and was dolloped on Stiles’s cup by an angry hipster barista.  Cream that should, by rights, be his.

Grande was a whipped cream thief. 

Stiles should call his dad and press charges, because no one, no one just took Stiles’s whipped cream.  Stiles was the only one who had a right to cream his whip, ok?  _STILES._

Grande smirked at him.  “If you want it back, you’re going to have to take it,” Grande challenged.

Stiles narrowed his eyes.

It was on.

“Fine!” Stiles said hotly, grabbing the mug out of Grande’s hand with a lurch, as though Grande hadn’t expected Stiles to retaliate by grabbing his coffee and downing it with extreme prejudice.   It was hot.  Really hot.  Really hot coffee that was kind of bitter and tasted like the bottom grinds of the filter, which told Stiles that Grande was probably even more hated than he was because at least he got the tepid watered down coffee.

He finished the mug with a choked grimace, sticking out his tongue as he made a face of disgust, even more furious that Grande would ruin his whipped cream on a drink that tasted like old boots worn by a cow farmer.  There was an irony in there, he was certain.

Who the hell did Grande think he was?

Then he realized he hadn’t quite reclaimed all of the whipped cream, because Grande didn’t even have the courtesy of knowing what to do when he had whipped cream on his fingers.

Cretin.

At least he didn’t wipe them over his pants.

Stiles had Grande’s fingers in his mouth before his brain really caught up with the action and the fact that he was more or less fellating some stranger’s fingers.

His eyes went wide and he paused, making a squeak of dismay as he reeled away, Grande’s fingers emerging from his mouth with a pop.

Super awkward.

He pushed the empty coffee mug back into Grande’s hands silently, ignoring how the fingers that had been coated with whipped cream were now coated with his own saliva, and cleared his throat.  “Let that be a lesson to you,” Stiles lectured sternly.

“I… coffee?” Grande looked down at his empty mug with a shell-shocked expression.

“You’re better off at the place down the street,” Stiles told him.  “Their wifi isn’t as good or else I would…” he gestured vaguely.

“No, I mean coffee?  With me?” Grande questioned, clearing his throat awkwardly and looking away from Stiles’ mouth.

“Oh yeah, who needs wifi?” Stiles asked rhetorically, shutting his laptop.  “Not I.”

“Maybe we can get some whipped cream after?” Grande suggested over his shoulder.

That was the first time Stiles saw Grande’s backside, and ohhhh yeah.  Whipped cream after.

 

 

Afterwards, the whipped cream container was almost empty, spitting more foam than spraying it.  Stiles curved his back over the side of Grande’s bed, heels hooked across Grande’s legs as he arched to get a good angle on the whipped cream nozzle.

“I’m Stiles, by the way,” he said casually around the last mouthful, shaking the empty canister and then chucking it towards the garbage can beside the desk.

“Derek,” Grande answered in amusement.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Stiles decided.  “Let’s be clear.  Was this a one-time thing or....?  Because I promise you, I can be way more smooth than immediately kneeling and worshipping your abs the moment your shirt comes off.”

“Is that what you were doing?” Derek laughed, running his thumb along the mark Stiles had left below his navel.  “Because personally I think they could have used more attention.”

“I got distracted by your cock,” Stiles answered bluntly, eyeing Derek’s thumb.  “I have to warn you it could happen again.”

“Yeah?”

“And again,” Stiles decided, running his hand up Derek’s thigh.

“Eventually I’m going to need coffee,” Derek pointed out.  “You’re the only one who got any.”

“Maybe you should get coffee now,” Stiles settled on his side, aborting the movement towards grabbing Derek.  He was a little surprised by how not awkward this was, like they had gotten rid of all their awkwardness in the coffee shop.  He grinned cheekily.  “You might need the caffeine.”

Derek looked at the time.  “The angry girl with the fishhook through her nose is still on shift,” he responded, but rolled to his feet.

“Do you have wifi?” Stiles asked as Derek pulled back on his clothes.

It might be a little awkward now.

Why wasn’t Derek naked anymore?  Stiles was the worst.

“I’ll bring you back something.” Derek promised, leaning down and across the bed so he could kiss Stiles.  And that was nice.  That was the reason Stiles was in Derek’s apartment in the first place rather than drinking coffee and playing footsies with him, because once Derek kissed him all rational thought fled Stiles’s brain until they were bursting through the door of Derek’s apartment, Stiles was struggling to get Derek’s shirt off Derek’s body...

Then abs.

And blowjobs.

“I noticed you didn’t answer my question directly,” Stiles said, watching as Derek checked for his wallet and his keys.  “I’m taking that as an answer, just so you know.”

“The wifi password is Lauragetyourownwifi – no spaces,” Derek answered in confusion. 

Stiles snorted.  That was a mixed signal if he ever saw one.  “Not... yeah, ok,” Stiles finally dropped it, because damn. 

“I’m not running a hotel,” Derek scowled.  “I don’t just give that out to people only staying the night.”

Soulmate. Definitely. 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, you're welcome to join me on my [Tumblr.](http://relenafanel.tumblr.com/)


End file.
